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vlOS-ANGI 


MRS.  HARRIETT  W.  WELLM&tN  F&tlRBANKS 


"Net  Dtal,"  but  "Enttrtd  Into  Lift" 


r  o 

j-s-n 


Sntrotmctton 

It  was  the  wish  of  our  mother  to  have  some 
of  her  poems  put  together  in  convenient  form 
to  present  to  her  friends,  and  she  had  already 
begun  to  arrange  them  when  she  left  us  for 
the  better  land. 

In  presenting  this  little  volume  we  but  carry 
out  to  the  best  of  our  ability  her  own  intent. 

BERTHA    H.    FAIRBANKS. 


BERKELEY.    CALIFORNIA 

DECEMBER 

I  9  O  8 


S10905 


Carter 


She  sat  in  the  chimney  corner, 

Carding  a  pile  of  tow, 

And  fair  were  the  dreams  she  was  carding  in, 

That  springtime  long  ago. 

Dreams  of  far  off  tomorrows, 
Unburdened  by  work  or  care, 
Of  golden  eves  and  roseate  dawns, 
Fair  palaces  in  air. 

And  her  face  was  fair  as  her  dreaming; 
Her  eyes  were  blue  as  the  sky; 
And  her  hair,  soft  flowing,  a  coil  of  gold 
Round  her  back  comb  broidered  high. 

And  on  her  head  was  a  'kerchief, 

To  catch  the  dust  and  the  lint, 

As  she  laid  the  tow  with  its  glittering  shreds, 

On  the  card-teeth's  silvery  glint. 

And  softly   she  carded  it  this  way, 
And  softly  she  carded  it  that; 
Then  softly  she  pulled  off  the  filmy  thing, 
And  folded  and  pressed  it  flat. 

Then  she  laid  it  down  beside  her, 
On  an  old  splint-bottomed  chair; 
And  so  she  carded  and  piled  them  high, 
Till  fifty  rolls  were  there. 


With  her  dreams  all  folded  in  them, 

A  pile  of  the  fluffiest  fluff. 

Then  she  wrapped  away  the  cards  and  tow, 

Saying  softly,  "That  must  be  enough." 

And  the  baby  slept  in  the  cradle, 

And  the  night  fell  gray  on  the  snow, 

Where  father  was  wending  home  from  the  woods, 

That  springtime  long  ago. 

rp  *T^  *1^  V 

Far  backward  the  dreams  and  the  dreamer, 
The  tides  of  the  years  have  swept. 
Where  now  are  the  hopes  and  the  glowing  dreams. 
And  the  dreamers  that  smiled  and  wept? 

O  Heaven !  O  land  of  Heaven ! 

Are  the  dreams  of  this  darksome  time 

All  gathered,  and  treasured,  and  blooming  anew, 

In  thy  fair  and  stormless  clime? 

O  there  may  earth's  yearnings  be  answered! 
There  now  may  the  dreamer  know, 
The  blessed  fruition,  earth  never  may  win, 
Of  the  beautiful  dreams  she  was  carding  in, 
That  springtime  long  ago. 


<^ut=boor  ©ben 


This  is  a  tale  of  long  ago, 

The  actors  gone,  the  restless  flow 

Of  time  has  laid  their  dwellings  low. 

An  out-door  oven,  built  of  brick, 
Good  solid  walls  four  inches  thick, 
A  broken  door  propped  with  a  stick. 

Grand  friends  would  come  that  afternoon, 
One  ne'er  forgotten  day  in  June. 
Skies,  birds,  and  breezes  were  in  tune. 

Closely  was  packed  that  oven  floor, 

From  far  back  depths  up  to  the  door; 

White  bread,  brown  bread,  baked  beans  and  more. 

Buff  custard  pies,  and  cakes  of  gold; 

Crisp  snowy  biscuits  lightly  rolled, 

And  "fluffs'*    just  bursting  from  their  fold. 

Wearied  with  molding,  mixing,  beating, 
And  ceaseless  care  of  oven  heating, 
Through  all  the  morning  hours  so  fleeting; 

Tired  mother  paused  for  one  look  more, 
Smiled  to  herself  and  propped  the  door, 
Just  as  a  hundred  times  before. 

"So  far  so  good,"  she  softly  said, 
"Such  lovely  biscuits  and  such  bread." 
Then  sought  the  house  with  gentle  tread. 


Meanwhile,  three  pigs,  with  noses  long, 
Adown  the  green  lane  strolled  along, 
Just  grunting  to  the  bluebird's  song. 

"What's  that  I  smell,"  said  hungry  Rough, 

Raising  his  nose  with  lengthened  snuff, 

"Come  through  this  gate  there's  room  enough." 

These  pigs,  well  known  as  wild  and  vicious, 
Stepped  slowly  through  with  grunt  suspicious. 
But  O,  that  smell  was  so  delicious; 

It  lured  them  on  in  eager  race, 
Yes  that  old  oven  was  the  place, 
Round  it  they  went  in  hungry  chase. 

One  hit  the  stick,  down  came  the  door, 

Disclosing  all  that  luscious  store, 

Wild  with  delight,  Rough  vaulted  o'er 

The  others  backs,  and  set  his  feet, 

In  scalding  bread,  began  to  eat, 

Choked,  squealed,  and  struggled  to  retreat. 

Alas!  behind  the  others  pushed, 

One  moment,  cakes  and  pies  were  crushed, 

Then,  desperate,  at  the  wall  he  rushed. 

Call  it  momentum,  force,  despair; 

He  burst   a  hole  and  went  out  there, 

Once  more  a  free  pig  in  free  air. 


Just  then,  mama  with  nerves  all  stirred 
By  squeals  of  anguish  she  had  heard, 
And,  as  she  ever  more  averred, 

A  sense  of  dread,  of  ill  impending, 
Rushed  out,  her  fearful  glances  sending, 
In  ruin  where  her  work  was  ending. 

She  saw  those  pigs  like  rockets  shooting, 
One  from  the  front,  one  rearward  scooting, 
One  in  a  broken  pie  was  rooting. 

Too  deep   for  words  was  her  despair, 
The  oven  reached,   the  ruin   there 
She  scanned  with  seeming  careless  air. 

But  she  was  pressed  with  care  and  sorrow, 
What  should  she  do,  today — tomorrow? 
House   full — no  place  to  buy  or  borrow. 

One  cake,  one  loaf  of  bread,  one  pie. 

Unbroken,  only  met  her  eye. 

Chickens  must   take   the   rest, — one   sigh. 

Fixing  the  door,  scarce  knowing  how, 
Brushing  the  trouble  from  her  brow, 
"Who'll  mind  a  hundred  years  from  now." 


3Jn  tfje  ©to 

DAYS) 


In  the  April  time,  so  long  ago, 

I  stood  by  the  big-wheel,  spinning  tow, 

Buzz,  buzz,  buzz,  so  very  slow. 

Dark,  rough  walls  from  the  ancient  trees, 
Wholesome  cracks,  for  the  cooling  breeze, 
Fireplace  wide,  for  the  chilrden's  glees. 

Mother  busy  with  household  cares, 
Baby,  playing  with  up-turned  chairs, 
Old  clock,  telling  how  fast  time  wears. 

Above,  the  smoke-colored  boards  and  beams, 
Down  through  a  crevice  poured  golden  gleams, 
Till  the  wheel-dust  glimmered  like  diamond  dreams. 

These  within,  out  under  the  sky, 

Bright  clouds  were  sailing,  birds  flitting  by, 

Joyous  children  playing  hie-spy. 

Up  from  the  earth  curled  leaves  were  coming, 
Bees  in  the  warming  sunshine  humming, 
Away  in  the  woods  the  partridge  drumming. 

O,  how  I  longed  to  burst  away 

From  my  dull  task,  to  the  outer  day, 

But  the  tow  must  be  spun  and  I  must  stay. 

So  buzz,  buzz,  buzz,  it  was  very  slow, 
Drawing  the  thread  from  the  shining  tow, 
When  the  heart  within  was  dancing  so. 


Then  hope  went  spinning  a  brighter  thread, 
On,  on,  through  life's  long  lanes  it  led, 
A  path  my  feet  should  one  day  tread, 

Over  the  hills,  in  the  distance  blue, 

On,  on,  the  glorious  vistas  through, 

So  hope  went  singing  when  life  was  new, 

Making  sweet  fancies,   time  to  beguile, 
Till  my  mother  said,  with  her  sunny  smile, 
"You  may  rest,  my  child,  I  will  reel  the  while." 

"Rest,"  'twas  the  rest  that  childhood  takes, 

Off  over   fences   and   fragrant  brakes, 

To  the  woods  where  the  earliest  wild  flower  wakes. 

O,  'twas  hard  to  leave,  those  April  days, 
That  fairy  land  in  the  wild  woods'  maze, 
For  common  work  and  its  humdrum  ways. 

But  my  steps  were  turned,  I  was  up  the  lane, 
Back  to  the  buzzing  wheel  again, 
My  yarn  had  finished  the  ten  knot  skein, 

And  my  gentle  mother  stroked  my  head, 
"Your  yarn  is  very  nice,"  she  said, 

'Twill  make  a  beautiful  table  spread." 

"Your* re  mother's  good  girl  to  work  so  well," 
O,  then,   my  childish  heart  would  swell, 
Till  the  grateful  tears  unbidden  fell. 


My  heart  beat  high  with  courage  and  life, 
I  could  face  the  world  with  sorrows  rife, 
And  shield  my  mother  from  all  its  strife. 

I  would  toil  for  her,  I  would  gather  lore 
From  many  books,  a  mighty  store, 
And  pay  her  kindness  o'er  and  o'er. 

She  should  have  rest,  in  the  years  to  come, 
My  earnings  should  give  her   a  cosy  room, 
Bright  and  warm  for  the  winter's  gloom, 

A  soft  arm  chair,  for  weary  hours, 
Books  and  music,  pictures,  flowers, 
All  that  love  brings  these  homes  of  ours. 

So  the  sweet  dream  ran,  as  the  wheel  buzzed  on, 
Till  the  gleams  of  golden  light  were  gone, 
And  the  April  rain  came  dripping  down. 

Ah!  my  heart,  must  it  ever  be  so! 

Cold  clouds  shading  life's  warmest  glow, 

Hope's  flowers  blighted  in  April  snow! 

In  the  same  low  room  my  mother  pressed, 
Her  child  to  her  softly  heaving  breast, 
And  closed  her  eyes  and  went  to  rest. 

The  old  walls  crumbled  long  ago, 
Hushed  the  big-wheel's  buzzing  low, 
Worn  to  shreds  is  the  shining  tow. 


Scabemp 


O  the  sun  is  shining  yellow, 
And  the  apples  hanging  mellow, 
And  the  fields  are  getting  brown; 
For  a  ramble  we  are  yearning, 
Where  afar  the  woods  are  burning, 
And  the  nuts  are  falling  down. 

Sitting  in  the  halls  of  learning, 
Ruthless  still  our  thoughts  are  turning, 
Outward  toward  the   smoky   hills. 
Wednesday  we  are  out  at  three, 
'Twas  an  old  Academy, 
Still  my  heart  the  memory  thrills. 

Let  us  go!  the  beechnuts  falling, 
And  the  Dryads  softly  calling, 
Whispers  pass,  and  glances  wake. 
Then  through  all  the  hour  of  "Nooning," 
Little  groups  of  friends  are  crooning, 
All  of  baskets,  fruits,  and  cake. 

'Twas  a  happy,  glad  procession, 
Naught  of  calling  or  profession, 
Talked  we,  as  we  marched  away. 
Some  were  poor,  their  way  were  working. 
Some  were  rich,  their  lessons  shirking, 
But  we  all  were  glad  that  day. 


Glamour  of  the  woods  was  o'er  us, 
Glorious  hopes  of  youth  before  us, 
As  we  picked  the  beechnuts  brown. 
Took  no  thought  we  of  tomorrow, 
Heard  no  note  of  coming  sorrow, 
Heard  the  beechnuts  dropping  down. 


jWemorp 


Through  rose-light  and  shadow  a  late  bird  was  hieing, 

Slow  up  the  dark  mountain  the  silver  moon  crept, 

The  soft  summer  zephyrs  through  leaflets  were  sighing. 

And  breath  of  wild  roses  their  memories  kept. 

The  pale  stars  were  shining  where  waters  were  sleeping, 

Like  gems  that  are  lost  in  a  fathomless  sea; 

As  we  wandered  together,  our  shadows  slow  creeping 

Behind  us  in  silence,  no  shadows  saw  we. 

How  sweet  were  those  moments,  so  silently  stealing, 

As  pearls  from  their  threading  they  glided  away, 

Till  the  moon  high  in  heaven  in  light  was  revealing 

The  dark  summer  forest  and  mountains  of  gray. 

And  my  heart  whispered  softly,  "O  fain  would  I  never 

Have  day's  sordid  cares  break  the  magic  of  night. 

Might  we  float  on,  as  dreaming,  for  ever  and  ever; 

With  the  clouds,  and  the  stars,  in  the  summer  moonlight.' 


Halloo!  old  Mars! 
Sailing  so  grand  among  the  evening  stars; 

How  do  you  do? 

How  is  the  weather? 
And  things  in  general  and  altogether. 

Up  there  with  you? 

Some  years  ago, 
You  swung  toward  us  pretty  near,  you  know; 

Did  you  make  out 

What  we  might  be? 
And  did  your  glasses  e'er  reveal  what  we 

Might  be  about? 

Grand  things  we  do. 
We  feel  a  trifle  more  "advanced"  than  you, 

Though  younger  by 

A   few  short  years. 
We  scan  infinity  with  hopes   and  fears, 

And   sweep   the   sky. 

Yet,   thank   us,    Mars: 
"He's  more  like  us  than  any  other  stars" 

We   say,   'tis   true. 

Still  you  played  jokes 
Upon  us  condescending  earthly  folks 

Who  trusted  you; 


Always  had  moons, 
Grand  and  majestic  as  our  own  balloons, 

Hung  in  your  sky, 

While  long  our  sages, 
Whose  words  of  wisdom  down  through  all  the  ages, 

None  could  deny, 

Said  you  had  none. 
All  unattended  you  marched  round  the  sun, 

Your  nights  were  black, 

Your  poets  knew 
No  moonbeams  pale,  with  lovers  hazing  through, 

Alack!  what  lack! 

We've  found  you  out. 
Now  bring  your  silverware  and  spread  about; 

Your  balls  and  things, 

Moons,  two,   (or  three), 
And  sev'ral  smaller  ones  there  yet  may  be. 

Besides  some  rings. 

Sincerely,  Mars, 
Do  your  folks  use  those  tiny,  moony,  stars 

For  traveling? 

Leave  work  and  care, 
And  ride  clear  round  you  through  the  upper  air, 

An  eight  hours  swing? 


Who  takes  the  pay? 
We  may  know  this  and  weightier  things  some  day. 

Do  your  folks  weep? 

Do  heavy  care, 
And  vain  regret,  and  grief  their  waking  share, 

And  break  their  sleep? 

Children  of  earth; 
Brief  is  our  stay  here,  where  we  have  our  birth. 

How  is  *t  with  you? 

Do  your  folks  die? 
Do  friends,  with  breaking  hearts,  just  lay  them  by, 

Hidden   from  view? 

Goodbye,  old  Mars; 
When  you  are  worn  to  dust  among  the  stars, 

I  shall  live  on, 

Sometime  shall  know 
Of  all  those  mysteries,  which  perplex  me  so. 

Here  in  life's  dawn. 


tUnbcr  t1)t 
at 


As   I  gaze  on  thee,   Orion, 
Marching  o'er  the  vault  of  night; 
Starry  belt  and  buckler,  gleaming, 
Ever  changeless,  ever  bright, 
Wondrous  scenes  of  olden  story 
Throng  the  dim  aisles  of  my  dreams; 
Ghosts  of  ages  long  departed, 
Seem  to  float  upon  thy  beams. 

Earthly  ages,  grand  Orion, 

Earthly  histories,  what  are  they? 

What  among  the  hosts  of  heaven 

Is  our  grandeur,  or  decay? 

What  is  earth?   a  mote  scarce  gleaming, 

On  creation's  farthest  brim. 

Yet  her  fame  must  live  eternal, 

Though  thy  brightest  stars  grow  dim. 

For  thy  Maker,  grand  Orion, 
Lord  of  all,  of  sun  and  star, 
Sought  our  world,  so  full  of  sorrow, 
Death,  and  violence,  and  war. 
Walked  on  earth,  O  wondrous  story! 
Took  himself,  the  lowest  place, 
Opened  up  immortal  glory, 
To  the  feeblest  of  our  race. 


When  from  Bethlehem's  hills,  Orion, 
Shepherds  watched  thy  march  on  high, 
Paled  thy  ray,  as  light  from  heaven 
Melted  down  the  midnight  sky? 
When  the  angel  hosts  were  gathered, 
Singing,  "Peace,  good  will  to  men," 
"Unto  God  the  highest  glory," 
Trembled  all  thy  radiance  then? 

Trembled  all  the  stars,  Orion? 
Hyads,  Plieads,  and  their  train, 
As  the  glorious  tidings  rolling, 
Swept  from  earth  to  heaven  again! 
Tidings  glad, — The  gloom  is  broken, 
Satan's  bonds  are  burst  in  twain. 
As  the  waters  sweep  the  ocean, 
Peace  on  earth  ere  long  shall  reign. 

Comes  a  day  to  earth,  Orion, 
When  the  glory  of  our  God, 
Shall  flow  over  hills  and  valleys, 
Crown  the  heights  where  Jesus  trod; 
When  the  powers  of  darkness  conquered. 
Shall  be  banished  to  their  place, 
And  this  battle  ground  of  ages, 
Held  secure  for  righteousness. 


Sing  triumphant  songs,  Orion, 
Earth's  redeemed  alone,  can  sing 
Of  the  dying  love  of  Jesus; 
The  lamb  slain,  their  priest  and  king. 
That  new  song  shall  roll  forever, 
New,  when  countless  years  are  o'er, 
"Praise  to  God — The  highest  glory, 
Evermore,  and  evermore." 


O'er  the  mountains  of  Judea, 
In  the  far  off  olden  time 
Youthful  Mary's  feet  are  speeding 
Winged  by  thoughts  and  hopes  sublime. 

Far  away  the  sea  is  gleaming, 
Sunset  blazons  rock  and  tree, 
Shines  on  Mary's  face  a  glory, 
Borrowed  not  from  sky  or  sea. 

Ah!  those  wondrous  words  from  Heaven! 
All  her  trembling  pulses  thrill; 
Wondrous  words,  the  Lord  is  mighty, 
All  his  words  will  he  fulfill. 

Sweep  her  thoughts  o'er  vanished  ages — 
Wave  on  wave  with  darkest  crest; 
Dark  with  dumb  unwritten  anguish, 
Cruel  wrongs  no  hand  redressed; 

Toiling  slaves  and  hopeless  women, 
Looking  up  with  pleading  eyes, 
On  her  vision  rise  and  vanish 
Like  the  smoke  of  sacrifice. 

"O,  the  world  is  weary  waiting, 
Must  we  die,"   they  yearning  pray, 
"Die  and  never  see  the  dawning 
Of  Mesiah's  glorious  day?" 


Swells  her  throbbing  heart  with  burden 
Of  great  joy  no  words  can  tell ; 
He,  the  promised  Christ,  is  coming 
In  this  sorrowing  world  to  dwell. 

In  the  east  the  cross  of  heaven 
Leans  upon  the  mountain  crest, 
See  we  in  a  lowly  doorway 
Mary  clasped  to  'Lizbeth's  breast. 

Then  the  spirits  grace  and  glory, 
Came  upon  Elizabeth, 
And  her  soul  arose  triumphant 
O'er  the  things  of  time  and  death. 

"What  am  I  now  that  the  mother 
Of  my  Lord  should  come  to  me? 
Blessed  art  thou  among  women 
Blest  am  I  thy  face  to  see. 

Blessed  is  she  that  believed, 
Held  not  back  in  doubt  and  fear; 
Unto  her  the  crowning  grandeur 
Of  the  ages  draweth  near. 

Crowning  grandeur  of  the  ages, 
Break  thy  bonds,  O!  feeble  thought, 
O'er  us  now  the  watching  angels 
Bend  to  hear  what  God  hath  wrought." 


Mary  sang,  "The  Lord  of  heaven 
All  my  soul  doth  magnify. 
He  hath  raised  the  broken  hearted. 
And  the  proud  he  hath  passed  by. 

"And  henceforth  among  the  nations 
Haloes  on  my    name  shall  rest, 
And  earth's  unborn  generations 
Shall  forever  call  me  blest. 

"O,  to  know  that  I  was  chosen! 
I,  the  lowly  and  the  poor, 
To  receive  upon  my  bosom, 
Him  whose  kingdom  shall  endure." 

Shall  endure  when  earth's  grand  monarchs 
Have  no  longer  power  to  sway, 
When  the  earth  and  all  its  kingdoms 
Shall  have  changed  and  passed  away. 


Sprit  15,  1865 


The  blow  has  fallen,  and  our  Chief  is  dead. 
He  whom  we  loved  as  father,  leader,  guide; 
Whose  truth  and  faith  stood  fast  when  sorely  tried, 
Whom  we  revered,  as  our  great  nations  head; 
By  dark  hate  slain — the  President  is  dead. 

The  blow  has  fallen!  As  the  solid  earth 
Quivers  and  trembles  'neath  the  lightnings*  shock, 
The  nation  trembles.     Our  poor  words  but  mock 
The  grief  and  gloom  that  shrouds  each  loyal  hearth 
O'er  this,  we  fondly  say,  "Land  of  our  birth." 

Through  four  dark,  stormy  years  we've  seen  him  stand, 
As  God  has  given  him  to  see  the  right; 
Steadfast  in  purpose,  mighty  in  that  might, 
Unmoved  by  secret  wile  or  bold  armed  hand, 
Like  Heaven's  majestic  priest,  to  save  the  land. 

Grief-stricken,  we  have  listened  to  his  voice, 
Calling  on  God  "for  help  in  direst  need. 
Now  every  wound  doth  ope  and  freshly  bleed; 
Since  he,  the  first  in  our  great  people's  choice, 
Cannot  with  us  in  dawning  peace  rejoice. 

For  gentle  spring  has  come,  with  songs  of  birds, 
And  gentle  peace  is  coming  with  the  spring. 
We  weep  and  pray;  no  prayers  or  tears  can  bring 
Our  leader  back  with  his  firm  reverent  words, 
Whose  memory,  even  now,  the  faint  heart  girds. 


Yet  from  the  stillness  of  the  murdered  dead, 

A  mightier  voice  than  that  of  living  men 

Swells  to  high  heaven, — rolls  back  o'er  earth  again; 

Preaching,  unstayed,  those  truths  for  which  he  bled. 

Tyrants  can  hush  no  more  that  voice  of  dread. 

O,  full  of  cruelty,  the  dark  abode 
Of  slavery  in  every  age  has  been. 
The  way  to  freedom  and  to  light  again, 
For  us  has  been  a  thorny,  bloody,  road; 
Where,  ah,  so  many  perished  where  they  trode. 

Now  he  has  fallen  in  his  manhood's  prime; 

One  victim  for  truth  and  freedom  died 

One  martyr  more  his  God  has  glorified. 

One  more  light  risen  to  sweep  the  stream  of  time. 

Through  all  its  flow,  in  this  and  every  clime. 


Bap  of 

Dcatlj  of  Lincoln 


Our  Father  while  this  day, 
The  nation  kneels  to  pray, 
Wilt  Thou  not  hear? 
For  the  Redeemer's  sake, 
Bid  us  fresh  comfort  take 
Breathe  thoughts  of  cheer. 

We're  scattered  far  and  wide. 
On  land  and  rolling  tide, 
On  mountains  crest, 
In  valleys  deep,  and  lone, 
Where  mighty  rivers  moan 
Through  the  wide  west. 

Where  the  low  murmur  creeps 
From  far  Atlantic's  deeps, 
The  voice  of  prayer 
Is  borne  from  olden  homes, 
From  spires  and  shining  domes, 
Upon  the  air. 

Where  blue  Pacific's  waves 
The  golden  border  laves, 
And  on  the  slope 
Where  snows  in  sunlight  sleep, 
There  now  they  bow  to  weep, 
To  look  in  hope. 


To  Thee  the  living  God, 
Beneath  whose  chastening  rod 
Their  pleas  go  forth, 
Who  meet  in  humble  shrines, 
Beneath  the  rustling  pines, 
Along  the  north. 

O,  Father,  loving  all, 

Wilt  hear  them  when  they  call 

And  wilt  forgive 

The  sins  of  every  one. 

May  Jesus  death  atone, 

Teach  them  to  live. 

Each  one,  and  all,  to  Thee, 
A  nation  pure  and  free, 
Without  a  stain. 
Then  all  the  loved  who  sleep, 
For  whom  this  day  we  weep, 
Died  not  in  vain. 

And  he  the  true,  and  kind, 

Who  lives  for  e'er  inshrined 

In  our  hearts  heart, 

May  we  not  clasp  his  hand 

In  the  immortal  land, 

No  more  to  part? 


In  loving  kindness  given. 
Taken  so  soon  to  heaven. 
We  weeping  bless 
Thee,  Who  in  this  dark  day, 
Did  lead  us  on  our  way 
With  tenderness. 

Guide  with  a  gentle  hand. 
The  rulers  of  our  land, 
In  the  right  way, 
That  from  this  trying  fire, 
We  may  rise  purer,  higher, 
Nor  Thy  truth  stay. 

Till  'neath  its  widening  glow, 
The  nations  learn  to  know, 
And  see  the  right, 
Until  earth's  gloom  is  broken 
As  once  the  Lord  has  spoken; 
"Let  there  be  light" 


Horb,  Eemember 


Hopeless,  heartbroken, 

All,  all  of  this  life  done, 

His  downward  course  all  run, 

In  helpless  anguish,  on  the  vile  cross  dying, 

With  dark,  unpitying  crowds  below  him  hieing, 

The  words  were  spoken. 

Came,  O,  so  tenderly,  the  Lord's  replying: 

"Today,"  while  heavenly  pity  filled  His  eyes, 

"True,  thou  shall  be  with  me  in  Paradise." 

Darkness  descended; 

A  sudden,  rayless,  night, 

At  noon,  veiling  from  sight 

The  mocking  crowds,   the  wondering  and  the  weeping. 

Save  mourners,  and  stern  Romans,  vigil  keeping, 

Their  way   all  wended, 

Where   the  doomed  city   in  dread  hush  was  sleeping. 

Crept  on  the  hours,  in  heavy  darkness  slow, 

While  Jesus  bore  the  weight  of  human  woe. 

He,  the  forgiven, 

Felt  he  the  gloom  and  pain? 

Fell  not  his  tears  like  rain, 

Beneath  the  cross  whereon  his  Lord  was  dying? 

Poured  he  not  forth  his  soul,  in  mute  replying? 

To  be  in  Heaven! 

Before  the  winds  of  evening,  rippling,  sighing, 

Should  stir  the  roses  there,  across  the  sea, 

In  his  old  home  beside  the  Galilee. 


There  in  old  days, 

How  he  had  dreamed  of  fame ; 

Of  an  undying  name. 

But  dark  his  life  had  grown — a  clouded  morning 

In  guilt  and  gloom.     Alas,  unheeded  warning! 

Misguided  ways! 

Just  was  his  deep  disgrace,  the  pain,  the  scorning. 

But  now  the  dreams  of  earth  were  growing  dim. 

The  promise  given;  another  life  for  him. 

Felt  he  that  never, 

Through  the  eternal  years, 

With  words,  or  flowing  tears, 

Could  all  his  love  for  Jesus  e'er  be  spoken, 

Or  all  his  sorrow,  for  his  life's  laws  broken. 

On  earth  forever 

His  day  was  done.      No  time  for  labor's  token. 

But,  "O,  to  think  He  did  remember  me! 

This  day  with  Him  in  Paradise  to  be!" 

Down  through  the  ages 

Has  come  this  piteous  plea; 

"O,  Lord,  remember  me!" 

Dear  answering  words,   through  passing  generations, 

Sorrowing,  repentant  ones,  in  all  the  nations, 

Unlearned  and  sages, 

Where  Jesus'  words  have  brought  their  revelations, 

On  dessert  sands,  and  islands  of  the  sea, 

Have  dared  to  pray,  "O,  Lord,  remember  me." 


life 


MEMORY  OF  ULRIC  FAIRBANKS) 


My  boy  has  gone  with  Jesus — gone   away 
Out  of  this  land  of  shadows  into  day. 
The  bible  in  my  hand,  I've  traced  his  flight, 
Till   death   and  darkness  melted  into   light. 
My  boy  has  left  me,  but  he  is  not  dead; 
He  lives  in  higher,   fuller  life  instead. 
The  Lord  had  need  of  him,  and  this  is  why 
He  went  from  us,  but  he  did  not  die. 
His  body  rests  beneath  the  pines  away, 
Where  snow-crowned  Shasta  gleams  at  set  of  day. 
But  the  dear  boy  I  love,  he  lies  not  there; 
He  walks  the  fields  of  heaven,  alert  and  fair, 
The  glorious  lands,  where  many  mansions  are — 
Where  there  is  no  more  death,  nor  grief,  nor  care. 
And  God  has  wiped  away  what  bitter  tears 
Might  rise  with  memories  of  his  earthly  years; 
And  I,  one  day,  shall  clasp  him  in  my  arms. 
Beyond  this  vale  of  shadows  and  alarms. 
I  did  not  bid  him  here  a  last  goodbye, 
I'll  walk  with  him  in  white  beyond  the  sky. 
And  O,  my  friends  if  you  would  speak  to  me, 
Speak  not  of  death  but  immortality. 
Life,  life  in  Jesus,  still  shall  be  the  song 
Of  my  poor  broken  heart  these  years  along; 
Till  morning  comes,  and  shadows  flee  away, 
And  all  our  loved  are  gathered  in  God's  day. 


Homa 

(OX  A  CHRISTMAS  EVE) 


!  sit  and  think,  in  this  balmy  air, 
While  the  rosy  light  fades  over  the  sea, 
While  the  mountains  darken  across  the  bay, 
And  the  yellow  moon  looks  down  on  me, 
While  the  ships  glide  in,  from  far  off  lands, 
And  the  mists  creep  in  from  the  gray  old  deep, 
And  the  mocking  bird  is  hushing  his  song. 
And  the  cricket  is  trilling  the  world  asleep. 
The  breath  of  flowers  floats  faint  on  the  breeze 
The  air  is  fresh  with  the  growing  things, 
But  my  thoughts  are  back  in  the  stormy  lands, 
Where  the  snow  falls  thick,  and  the  sleigh  bell  rings. 
And  my  children's  voices  are  at  the  door, 
And  within  is  the  evergreen  Christmas  tree, 
There  are  calls,  and  shouts,  and  snatches  of  song; 
Ah,  'tis  but  a  memory  comes  to  me! 
And  I  must  not  think,  I  am  lonely  now; 
The  voices  are  scattered,  some  are  hushed, 
And  I  look  above,  to  the  soft  pale  stars, 
Away  from  this  perishing  world  of  dust. 
O,  for  a  glimpse  of  the  light  of  heaven! 
Somewhere  above  us  that  land  must  be! 
O,  for  a  glimpse  of  the  vanished  faces, 
Even  in  heaven  remembering  me. 


Eememfcrance 


The  ships  glide  in  from  distant  seas, 
The  morning  gleams  across  the  waves, 
I  wander  on  these  lonely  shores, 
And  pick  these  flowers  for  far  off  graves. 

Far  severed  graves!  O,  flowers  I  ween 
That  your  sweet  destiny  you  know; 
To  deck  with  bloom,  a  lonely  grave, 
Where  Shasta  lifts  his  crown  of  snow; 

To  bear  the  dream  of  vanished  years, 

Of  golden  suns  and  moonlit  seas, 

Far  eastward  to  that  quiet  spot, 

Where  Erie's  blue  gleams  through  the  trees, 

To  leave  your  slopes  above  the  sea, 
The  murmuring  tides  and  ocean's  breath, 
To  bear  for  hearts  that  weep  unseen, 
Remembrance — love  o'er  mastering  death. 


And  even  here 
The  spell  of  autumn  steals  upon  the  year. 

A  lingering  sigh, 
Out-breathing  memories  of  the  long  gone  by. 

I   turn  my  ear 
To  catch  the  whisperings  of  some  far  off  year. 

Among  the  trees, 
In  lone,  wild  meadows  and  by  far,  wide  seas, 

By  forest  streams, 
Slumber  is  brooding  o'er  a  world  of  dreams. 

A  presence  glides 
Unseen,  among  the  morns  and  eventides; 

It  is  the  shade 
Of  all  the  past;  which  ever  with  me  strayed, 

Sad  lyrics  sung, 
Through  lonely  fading  woods,  when  life  was  young; 

Still  'thralling  me 
With  dim  old  dreams,  beside  this  western  sea. 


tfje  pap 


In  the  far  purple  distance  melting  away, 
The  mountains  are  sleeping  beyond  the  bay. 

Grand   Cuyamaca  his   shoulders  rears 

From  the  mystic  glooms  of  the  ancient  years. 

Dim  as  the  clouds  in  their  robes  of  gray, 
Paling  and   fading  softly   away 

The  folded  ranks  of  his  comrades  lie, 
Peacefully  resting  against  the  sky. 

Slumbering  giants,  upon  them  well 
The  silence  of  centuries  holds  its  spell. 

Pale  with  the  mists  of  their  morning  dreams, 
Rosy  with  splendors  of  sunset  beams, 

Through   the  blare   of  day,   through  the  lonely  night. 
They  sleep  in  the  sun  or  the  soft  moonlight. 

Ships  spread  their  white  canvas  to  linger  a  day. 
Then  dim  o'er  the  ocean,  all  sailing  away. 

Tides  go  out  forever,  and  ever  return, 

And  clouds  veil   the  morning,   and  sunsets  burn; 

And  men  sail  away,  to  return  no  more, 

And  eyes,  dim  with  longing,  look  off  from  the  shore, 

And  changes  will  come  where  memories  cling, 
And  O  what  changes  the  years  may  bring. 

But  there  are  the  mountains,  silent  and  gray, 
Changeless  forever  beyond  the  bay. 


Autumn 


Autumn  leaves,  autumn  leaves, 
Magic  web  their  brightness  weaves. 

Gold  and  red,  over  head 
Through  the  woods  they  spread. 
Now  the  wind  is  swinging  high, 
See  them  float  along  the  sky, 
High  and  low,  birds  they  go 

With  their  golden  glow. 

Now  we  run,  lessons  done, 
Where  the  mellow  autumn  sun 
Sheds  its  beam,  like  a  dream, 

O'er  the  leaves  agleam. 
Soon  their  brightness  will  decay; 
They  will  fall  and  fade  away, 
Cold  and  dead,  where  we  tread 

When  the  snows  are  spread. 


grnib  Wt6t  Anxious 


Amid  these  anxious  days,   a  moment  pause 
And  look  beyond  this  bound  of  circling  years. 
Forget  engrossing  cares,  their  end  and  cause 
With  all  their  passing  joys,  and  hopes,  and  fears, 
What  is  this  life  with  all  its  smiles  and  tears? 
For  what  the  throbbings  of  thy  burdened  heart? 
What  all  that  chills  thee  now,  or  all  that  cheers, 
Success'  high  triumph,  disappointment's  smart? 
The  pageant  soon  will  pass,  the  actors  all  depart. 

And  thou  a  deathless  soul,  thy  youth's  glad  day 
Will  yet  renew  in  fairer  worlds  on  high, 
Where  dreams  ecstatic  never  fade  away, 
And  sweet  old  loves,  and  friendships  never  die. 
There,  with  transcendent  bliss,  no  lonely  sigh 
Will  e'er  steal  backward  to  this  transient  life, 
But  each  new  aspiration  soar  more  high, 
No  longer  fettered  by  the  passion's  strife, 
Thy  home  forevermore  in  realms  with  glory  rife. 


Only  one  earth  in  all  the  universe! 
One  earth,  with  aching  hearts,  and  falling  tears. 
Wherefore  my  soul,  hold  mastery  o'er  thy  grief; 
Lift  up  with  strength,  bring  aching  hearts  relief; 
Lighten,  in  this  thy  day,  earth's  darksome  years. 

Stop  not  to  weep,  redeem  these  passing  days. 
No  world  beyond  can  have  such  need  as  this. 
Work,  then,  with  God;  He  worketh  hitherto. 
A  glorious  work  He  giveth  you  to  do. 
Pray,  O  my  soul,  this  work  thou  do  not  miss. 

Only  one  earth,  and  thou  a  sojourner, 
Tarrying  to  help  the  stress,  upon  thy  way. 
Then  train  thine  eyes  far  vision,  O  my  soul! 
Somewhere  in  realms  of  ether  shines  thy  goal, 
But  leave  thy  record  bright  on  earth's  dark  day. 


My  sad  gray  hair!  I  know  'tis  here  and  there 
Among  the  locks  of  brown;  once  my  bright  crown. 

I  look  and  sigh,  as  the  years  fleeting  by, 
Each  hastes  some  frost  to  sow,  heralding  snow. 

This  is  the  snow  of  age,  full  well  I  know; 

While  my  brain  glowing  teems  with  youthful  dreams. 

It  scarce  can  be,  I've  left  that  fair  countree; 
The  rosy  land  of  youth:  'tis  dream  of  ruth. 

'Twas  yesterday,  I  went  to  school  away; 
Toiled  up  with  eager  hope  ambition's  slope. 

Then  far  away  were  age,  and  tresses  gray; 
Off  many  and  many  a  year — they  are  not  here ! 

Ah  well!   ah  well!   I  shall  not  always  dwell 
Where  age  brings  shadows  gray,  and  one  may  say: 

"She's  growing  old;  her  life's  best  years  are  told. 
Young  feet  have  swifter  pace,  fill  up  her  place." 

Some  time,  in  sleep,  I'll  glide  beyond  the  sweep 
Of  age,  and  time,  and  tears,  and  wake  where  years 

No  shadows  throw,  no  bitter  memories  grow, 
No  mournful  songs  entwine  age  and  decline. 


tfje 


So  far  up  the  hill  of  life  am  I, 
When  the  air  is  clear  I  can  descry, 
Beyond  the  blue  mountains  farthest  rim, 
The  walls  of  a  city  shining  dim. 

Unto  that  city,  my  pathway  is  leading, 
Rough,  and  steep,  with  my  feet  a-bleeding, 
But  ever  and  ever,  on  I  go, 
I  shall  reach  my  home  at  the  evening's  glow. 

Up  and  up,  ever  higher  and  higher, 
Plainer,  the  home  of  my  heart's  desire. 
My  life  shall  never  go  down  the  hill, 
The  sun  gets  low,  but  I  climb  up  still. 

On  a  golden  cloud  from  the  farthest  height, 
Or  a  crystal  span,  or  a  line  of  light, 
My  feet  shall  go  onward,  up  into  the  glow 
Of  a  wondrous  day,  when  the  sun  is  low. 


Citizen  of  tije  SJntoerse 


This  is  not  evening  twilight,  'tis  the  dawning; 
Fairer  and  plainer  grow  the  hills  afar, 
I  am  not  folding  up  my  hands  from  labor; 
Freshly  I  lift  them  while  the  paling  star 
Melts  into  light. 

O,  vaster,  grander,  grows  the  world  before  me. 
The  shadows  vanish  in  the  rising  ray. 
I  am  not  aged;  I  am  just  begining 
Through  God's  great  universe  to  make  my  way. 
With  soul  alert,  on-pressing  toward  a  day 
Unhemmed  by  night. 


GAZETTE  PRESS 
BERKELEY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


WRY 


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3511          Poems 
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